


Inigo's Instrumentum Erectum

by Sharman



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharman/pseuds/Sharman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owain needs to be more careful about what he writes in the Manual of Justice, and Inigo needs to learn to respect other people's privacy. Thankfully, neither of those things are happening any time soon.</p><p>Loosely based on their A-Rank support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inigo's Instrumentum Erectum

**Author's Note:**

> And the marathon of finishing unfinished fics continues with another entry, hooray! I did my best to polish the older parts, so hopefully it's not _too_ noticeable just how awful they are, but we'll see.

“Boyd’s…Bane? Ballista?” Owain tapped the quill against his chin bemusedly as he tried to conjure a move fitting of the great hero’s companion. He hadn’t even noticed the tip was still seeping with ink until he felt a murky substance cantering down from the cleft below his lips. Muttering curses under his breath, he reached for a discarded parchment to wipe away the fluid. While rubbing his chin with the paper, he perked up, a grand idea coming to mind. “Geoffrey’s Chaaarge!!!” He quickly scrawled it down, right under ‘Ragnell Rage’.

Suddenly, he heard a small chuckle and felt a pair of arms wrapping around him from behind. He turned his head to see Inigo grinning mischievously and reaching for the journal he was holding.

“Hmm? Is this your _diary_?” Inigo inquired, having successfully pried it from Owain’s grasp.

Owain’s eyes grew in panic and his arms flailed about in an attempt to retrieve the artifact while Inigo held him back with a single hand. “Gah! Inigo! What are you doing here?" he questioned. Smirking, he added, "Shouldn’t you be out practicing your _dancing_?”

“Hey, at least I don’t go home and write about my _feelings_ , or whatever this is," he quickly countered, feeling bashful himself now. "Er, by the way…what is this?”

“Don’t!" he cried, grasping at the air. "The Manual of Justice is more than your mortal eyes can handle!”

“And you’re what, immortal?" he scoffed. "Now let’s see what we have here…” Inigo flipped through the pages, occasionally pausing to cringe at a particularly poor drawing or outlandish skill. “Ah, ‘Page 15: The Awesome Catalogue of Ultimate Techniques’! This oughta be good!”

“H-hey! Hey! You can’t read that page!” Owain began shouting and grabbing for the Manual once again.

Inigo lifted it above his head and kept it out of his reach rather easily while continuing to read. “Oh? And why is that? You know, it’s selfish of you to keep such great names to yourself, like…” Inigo mocked Owain's signature tone, “‘Ike’s Iiiiiire’!!! Or ‘Caladbolg Cataclysm’!!!” He chuckled and then paused, squinting at one name in particular. “Ini–…huh?”

He lowered his defenses long enough for Owain to make his move. He leaned in and captured Inigo’s lips with his own, catching him entirely off guard. Inigo’s eyes were wide open at first but they soon drifted close, as if he were falling into a deep sleep. On the contrary, his arms said quite the opposite as he moved his hands around Owain’s waist to cup his rear. Just as he was getting into it, Owain snatched the notebook out of his hand and was out of the door faster than a Taguel in rollerskates (one that actually had feet).

Inigo looked dumbstruck for a moment before regaining his composure and resting his index finger on his chin, contemplating where the swordsman might have gone off to.

 

* * *

 

 After half an hour of dodging Olivia’s requests to rehearse their routine for the Summer Festival and searching through Owain’s usual hangouts, he finally spotted the blond laying down against a tree on the lakefront, presumably asleep. He had already been fooled once, and this time he was determined to succeed; his pride was on the line. Creeping up from behind him, Inigo stealthily retrieved the object in question, conspicuously protruding from his back pocket. “Aha, here it is!” he exclaimed, before remembering the light sleeper at his feet and lowering his voice. “Urvan’s Usurp, Volug’s Vengeance, Zelgius’ Zeal…” His voice fell silent, reading the next phrase. “Owain!" he shouted, jerking the boy from his slumber. "Does that mean what I think it means?!” Inigo accused, grinding his teeth together.

Owain quickly surveyed his surroundings, taken aback. “Ah, Inigo! How did you find me here? I strategically concealed myself within the dark shadows of the night!”

“Sigh. You were sleeping in plain sight.”

“Lies! But I would expect nothing less of a worthy rival than to deduce my location.” Taking note of the journal in Inigo’s hand, he leapt to his feet, bewildered. “Where did you get that?”

“Don’t change the subject. Care to explain _this_?” he asked, pointing to a particularly imaginative technique.

Owain’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as his eyes scanned over the line Inigo was referencing. “Oh, that one…that’s just a rough draft, a mock-up.”

“A mock-up, eh? That’s funny, ‘cause I'm not seeing a lot of different ways to take this. My Latin isn’t all that great, but I think we can both get the gist of it.”

Owain took a deep breath and held both of his arms out to the side. “Just stick a sword in me and be done with it.”

“Sure, my _sword_ , if you know what I mean,” he teased, smiling devilishly. Inigo started walking closer to Owain, who backed away out of instinct before realizing he was already cornered by the tree. Inigo grabbed the outstretched arms and pinned them above his head, pressing them hard against the wood of the pine tree. He was captivated by the sight of the myrmidon beneath him, his gentle hair and features expressed only by the effulgent glow of the moon that reflected off the water and scattered into the treeline before them. The silence was starting to make Owain uneasy, what with the way Inigo was staring at him as if he were some profound piece of literature.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked, a hint of fear plaguing his voice.

The usual glint was back in his eyes in an instant. "The question you should be asking is what's getting into _you_."

An awkward silence fell between them, neither one sure how to proceed. The tension hung thick in the air, building up around them until Owain decided to get it over with and make the first move, bridging the gap between their mouths. He moved to tangle his hands in the other’s hair until he remembered they were still restrained, and felt a rough chafe as they writhed against the bark. Inigo on the other hand possessed such liberty, running his fingers through the blond’s hair and gently pulling them closer together. The two became immersed in the still unfamiliar, but nonetheless, welcome sensation, craving more with every kiss, some slow and indulgent, others helpless white flags waved towards their desires.

They separated one last time and the silence returned once again, the rhythm of the atmosphere broken only by their long, defeated breaths. Neither boys were strangers to passion, but it still felt so much _better_ when it was the two of them and not some random maiden in town or soldier about camp.

Inigo couldn’t resist the way the other's lips looked after making out, just barely swollen with a tinge of rouge, and his thoughts began to travel south. “ _Owain_ ,” he breathed out, silently delivering the message with his eyes.

Inigo had since released Owain’s hands and he complied (rather conceitedly), dropping to his knees before the mercenary. He cast his eyes down, starting to work on Inigo’s belt before there was a hand on his chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. Owain grinned, revelling in the power he had over his friend. “Enjoy that while you can. In a moment you’ll be _this_ far too deep to form that kind of smile,” he retorted, holding his hands apart as an imaginary means of measure.

“Please, I doubt it's earning you any bragging rights. And what makes you think I could take all that anyway?”

“Basilio’s champions back in Ferox. I seem to remember a certain fellow; what was his name? Lon–”

“Shut up,” Owain growled, the blood beginning to leave his trousers and rush towards his cheeks as he undid the buttons. Finishing, he tugged his pants down to his knees and stared in wonder. His blood flow had now reverted, part in anticipation and part in arousal. “…Remind me why it is that you can never get a date?”

“Look who's talking. And no, your sword hand doesn't count," he mocked. Owain made a sour face, but otherwise seemed too distracted to come up with any sort of remark. Noticing his hesitation, Inigo placed a hand on the back of the blond's head and gently guided it towards his waiting erection. Owain let go of control and allowed his head to be guided, parting his lips to take in Inigo's cock. It wasn't quite as thick as it looked once he had gotten his mouth around it, but he knew he would struggle to get it more than halfway down his throat. He also knew that Inigo wouldn't let him give up that easily and would continue trying to slide it as far down his oral cavity as he could. He was always trying to stick swords in scabbards that weren't made to fit them, after all…

Owain's thoughts were interrupted by Inigo expectedly unexpectedly plunging his cock deep into Owain's throat, causing him to gag a little. As soon as he began adjusting to the intrusion, it was gone, but not for long. He couldn't say that the sensation was entirely unwelcome, though, as he felt his own cock twitch in response to being domineered. Noticing the other sputtering slightly, Inigo withdrew himself, smiling a little sheepishly, but not apologetically.

Owain took this opportunity to dart his tongue out around the head, enjoying the unfamiliar taste of Inigo that he secretly hoped to get acquainted to. He took his time licking up and down the shaft slowly, almost painfully, in an effort to regain the upper hand. His scheme had little impact, though, as Inigo soon grew impatient and held his head in place with one hand on his neck and the other on the back of his head while he pounded Owain's throat, picking up speed and depth the more Owain protested through muffled grunts.

Once he decided that the he had learned his lesson, Inigo pulled out and looked down at the boy between his legs triumphantly, placing his hands square on his hips and puffing out his chest ever so slightly. Owain tried his best to appear displeased with the rough way Inigo was handling him, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He drew in a sharp breath like he was about to say something smart, but before he had a chance to get a word in, Inigo grabbed his dick in his hand and shoved it back into the myrmidon's mouth. His eyes widened a fraction in surprise, but his mouth was already prepared for the task and set back to work on taking in as much as possible, exhaling as he relaxed his throat to make more room. Owain's complaints slowly subsided into quiet moans of pleasure whispered around Inigo's length as he grew accustomed to the near constant sensation of it being thrusted in and out of him. The only time Inigo let up the brutal pace was to let Owain back up for air for a short moment, only to submerge it back in harder than before, triggering Owain's gag reflex each time.

The lump that traveled down his throat, pressed against his Adam's apple every time his dick moved past it, and the soft noises of ecstasy that accompanied the boy being filled up were sending him over the edge. He knew he wouldn't last long watching his friend take all of him so eagerly. His grip on the blond hair tightened and his thrusts became less articulated, coming from a place of pure need, rather than want. His egotistical nature had gone out the window and he had surrendered himself completely to his urges. This didn't go unnoticed by Owain, whose throat was thoroughly ravaged from the non-stop punishment by now. Still, he somehow managed to hold his breath just a little longer and suck just a little harder, adding to the pressure that was already building up inside the silver-haired boy.

Inigo's breaths were ragged and his chest was heaving as he mumbled something about getting closer or whatnot, but Owain didn't seem to care and continued his business as usual. He was anticipating the load with excitement, but a little fear, the same way his nerves felt before challenging an especially skilled opponent. Inigo's muscles began to give out one by one; he felt his shoulders falling forward and his knees caving in, betraying his ability to hold himself steady. Owain knew the moment of truth was coming soon and braced himself, intent on swallowing every drop. Just before it happened, though, Inigo retrieved his cock from Owain's mouth, leaving him feeling empty and hungry for more. He looked up at the mercenary through half-lidded eyes in slight confusion before he noticed he was rapidly stroking himself and crying out, despite no sound escaping from his throat. It was just then that he realized what was happening, and felt a warm liquid being splashed all over his face.

He stared at Inigo in rage and disbelief as he felt cum dripping all over himself from the sloppy facial he had just received. "Hey! What was that fo–"

He tried to scold him, but was promptly silenced as Inigo used his still-hard cock to shepherd as much cum as he could past his lips, with a smug smile spreading across his own. He remained pacified and allowed Inigo to clean up the mess he had made, swallowing whatever was given to him. He preferred wiping it up with this to the rough texture of parchment, at least.

Inigo dropped to one knee and took Owain's face in both hands, admiring his handy-work. "Whoops, I missed a spot," he observed nonchalantly, licking up a bit of cum from the corner of Owain's mouth and biting his bottom lip as he did so.

 _What a narcissist_ , Owain thought to himself, but he had to admit, it turned him on a little.

Just as suddenly as he had arrived, however, he was leaving. He buttoned up his trousers and fastened his belt, whistling a casual tune while he did so and made to return to his tent.

Owain was at a loss for words. "Where are you going?" was all he managed to choke out.

"Would ya look at the time? It's past midnight now. You really oughta head back yourself." He paused and turned to face Owain again. "Oh…but you might wanna clean that up first." He gestured to the slick cum still glistening off of Owain's hair.

Owain ran a hand through the carefully-styled spikes and was surprised to find them coated in a sticky substance. He shook his hand frantically, trying to rid himself of it, but despite that he wasn't totally disgusted. Granted, he usually used a different kind of gel to style his hair, but it did give him that toussled look. "Hey, I'll be seeing you around camp soon, right?" he called after the fading figure.

Inigo chuckled slightly. "I couldn't avoid you if I tried," he shouted back, waving the hand that wasn't in his pocket towards him. _And believe me, I've tried_ , he thought to himself.

Owain waved back even though he knew it was a futile gesture, hoping that it would reach him somehow. He waited until he was sure he was out of earshot before audibly groaning and reclining against the tree, laying on his back to get a full view of the night sky. Unlike usual, however, he found nothing poetic about the view above him. No matter how he connected the stars, tracing a line between them with his finger, the only name they revealed to him was Inigo. Only, when he saw it, it wasn't like the feeling of purpose that filled him when he saw a new name for a comrade's weapon before him; rather, it was more like a sense of dread, gnawing away at him until he had no choice but to roll back over and go to sleep to escape his thoughts, not even bothering to return to his tent. Even as sleep overtook him and his senses began to blur together, he couldn't decide whether he was more angry at himself for actually sleeping with that loser, or for wanting to do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, surprise, it turned out to be shameless smut with little in the way of substance (but honestly, who can sit down to write these two together and type out a meaningful plot without it devolving into The Future Past or grim(a)dark?). Actually, they were supposed to be all lovey-dovey, but c'mon, have you read that support chain? It just wasn't meant to be.
> 
> (Also in cased you missed it the title is what was written in the Manual of Justice (fun fact, instrumentum erectum is Latin slang for (you guessed it) an erection (impress your friends with your knowledge of archaic colloquialisms for boner!)))


End file.
